Whouffle, Souffle
by The6thAnon
Summary: A collection of 11/Clara drabbles ranging from the fluffy to the forgotten, from lost wanderers to newfound love. Warnings, summaries, and ratings inside. Feel free to leave a request in the reviews.
1. Delicacies

Clara and The Doctor go grocery shopping. Clara tries to keep things healthy. The Doctor has other plans.

Rating: K

Warnings: Food mention, job mention

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><p>Tap. Tap. Tap tap tap.<p>

Clara glanced at The Doctor over the rim of her computer. He drummed his fingers on the table, his eyes unfocused.

"You bored yet?" He asked, a whine pulling on the end of his sentence. "Tell me you're bored, Clara."

"Why? You calling me boring?"

"I'm calling your _life_ boring," he said, getting up and crossing his eyes. "Your worky life. Borrrr-ing."

"Well, fine, I won't take you job hunting with me." He gave up making funny faces—she wasn't looking at him, anyway, and there was no point if he didn't have an audience—and collapsed back into sofa, aligning himself disastrously with the crack in the cushions.

"Good."

"Fine!" She looked over her laptop to glare at him, failing miserably once she caught sight of his pout. _It only makes his chin look _bigger, she marveled to herself. _That's almost impossible. _She closed the laptop.

"How did you lose your job, anyway?" He asked.

_"Oh, but that's wrong," Clara told her students as they huddled around her on the carpet, her eyes bright, her legs folded under her dress. "The Doctor visited America first."_

"Oh…dunno, they just let me go." She shrugged. "Just happens sometimes." She placed her computer on the coffee table neatly and got her purse. "If you're not letting me get anything done, we're going grocery shopping." She paused by the door. "Coming?"

"But we already have soufflé ingredients!" He reminded her. He got up anyway. He'd much rather take her on a real adventure, but the TARDIS was out of commission for a bit after she'd found herself smitten with an asteroid. He knew his box was fine, just resting, but being away from the ship always made him a little comfortable. Not to mention sitting in one place drove him _mad_. Waiting for time to catch up to him—how did Clara do it?

"I don't just make soufflés, you know. I cook normal, healthy meals for growing people." She took in a breath sharply. "Do Time Lords go through an intense growth spurt? Or are you always hormonal, like an eternal teenager?" The Doctor ignored her question, gracing it with a tight crossing of his arms and a toss of his head. "Though you're more of a five-year old."

"And you're a…" He fumbled for the right word. "Adult."

"You say that like it's a dirty word." She winked at him. "Come along. We have vegetables to purchase!" He made a face on his way out, a shudder shaking his whole body.

"Vegetables."

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><p>"Doctor, <em>stop. <em>We do not need another box of cereal." She picked it up, glancing at the colorful packaging. "Why do you want this, anyway? Looks awful." He mumbled incoherently. "What?"

"I _said_, it has a toy inside. 50/50 chance you get a racey car." He straightened out his jacket. "What?"

"Doctor, if you ever want to set foot inside the TARDIS again, I suggest you stop. Now." He scoffed to himself and restrained himself for whole aisle as Clara picked up cartons of chicken broth.

"Doctor!" He jumped, caught in the act. "This is the third time you've put marshmallows in the cart. Do I need to have you walk in front of me?" He clutched the bag.

"…No."

"That's right! Now put it back." He stared at her. "Fine, fine! We'll keep the marshmallows. Instead—" she looked at him warningly and jabbed a finger into the cart. "Instead of all this other junk." The Doctor grudgingly agreed, and folded his hands over his chest. The contents of his coat gave a loud crinkle, but Clara didn't seem to notice.

* * *

><p>Clara unpacked the groceries as The Doctor unloaded packages from his jacket. It had taken quite a bit of maneuvering to pay for the candy without her noticing, but it would be worth it.<p>

"Doctor? What is that?" He winced at her pose, eyes flashing to the hands on her hips.

"Ingredients for a special treat." He rubbed his hands together, a quiet smile lighting up his face. "Time Lord S'mores."

"Time Lord—are those even a thing?"

"They are most definitely a thing! Best s'mores in the universe." He tore open a pack of skewers and slid a few marshmallows on each decisively, maintaining eye contact with that infuriatingly innocent gaze of his. "Caramel sauce or raspberry?" She put a finger to her lips. _This is what happens when you invite a time traveler into your life, Clara. _She shrugged. _Can be nice, if you don't count the calories. _

"Raspberry, definitely."


	2. For You, Childhood

The Doctor takes Clara on a date to the playground. Stumbles, laughter, and hand holding ensue.

Rating: K

Warnings: none

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><p>"I'm taking you out on a date, Clara." The Doctor kept his eyes on the console, checking the oxygen levels for the seventh time. A smile rewrote his companion's face.<p>

"Alright," she said slowly. "Where?"

"Well…I'm letting the TARDIS decide." He fiddled with a cream-colored knob.

"Really! Are you?" She asked quickly. "Doesn't sound like—"

"Nah, but I don't want you to blame me if you don't like it." He tore his eyes from the controls. "Are you…are you ready to go?"

"Yeah! If you are," she added, her hands flinging themselves into her hair. _Relax, _she told herself. _It's not your first first date. _She swallowed and faced the door. He pushed a button, and the TARDIS opened, revealing a magnificent playground. Its greenery stretched farther than Clara could see, speckled with the multi-colored t-shirts of roaming children and leashes knotted to the fence. The creaks of the equipment blended into children's shouts, the sound surprisingly pleasant. Clara thought she caught a whiff of corndogs against the aftertaste of humidity.

With the TARDIS doors framing it like a painting, it was rather picturesque, Clara noted to herself. _Not a bad choice at all_.

"Do you like it?" He took a few cautious steps. "We can always go somewhere else." She took his hand.

"Not a chance, clever boy." She grinned, and he couldn't help but mirror her excitement. _She likes it, _he barely had a chance to think as he found himself getting pulled to the heart of the park. _She likes it! _

"Where to first?" He asked, and she jumped on a carousel-like object. "The spinny thing! Excellent choice." She clung to the bars, laughing, and jumped off after a few turns, landing neatly on her feet. The Doctor had no such luck, stumbling after he landed.

"OK, OK," she said between gasps of laughter. "Now try to walk in a straight line." He took the opportunity to trip, and Clara caught him by the shoulders.

"I got to you. Is that close enough?" She smiled at him and kissed his forehead.

"Let's go to the swings next, OK?" He nodded, taking her hand just before she walked out of reach. She looked back at him, but he averted his gaze to the sky. She squeezed his hand.

"I propose a challenge," he announced once they'd reached an empty pair of swings. He put his hands on his hips and dug his shoes into the woodchips. "We race."

"Race where?" He just pointed to the sky, and a slow smile spread over Clara's face. "You are _on_, Doctor." They stood two feet from their swings, and The Doctor counted down.

"Three…two…one!" They jumped into the swings and reached for the stars the old-fashioned way.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Clara?" She leaned against his shoulder on the park bench.<p>

"Hey." She reached out her hand, and he took it.

"Pretty good first date, huh?" She looked into his earnest face, his open eyes.

"Yeah, ya goofball," she replied, leaning back to smack him on the shoulder. "Pretty good first date."


	3. The Muffin Isn't The Muffin

Rating: K

Clara and The Doctor bake muffins for a school event. He enjoys it a little more than expected.

Warnings: Food mention

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><p>"But don't we <em>always <em>make souffles?"

"That is an absolutely unfounded accusation." She pushed a baking pan across the counter to where he was sitting, his nose barely above the laminate surface. "Besides. The school requires muffins."

"This is for a school event?" He got up, an eyebrow raised. "Since when do you do school events?"

"Since I got a job, numbskull." She swatted him lightly with a spatula. "Come on, let's get to it! Flour," she added, pointing at The Doctor. "Go get."

"Of course, a job… You see me every Wednesday, but I see you every day," he said, mostly to himself, as he reached for the top shelf of the cupboard. "I keep forgetting."

"Forgetting what?"

_That I'm not your whole life, _he thought, but he kept his mouth shut and gave her a signature smile.

"How to bake! You'll need to teach me." He plopped the flower next to her line of ingredients and beamed at her.

"Well…alright." She reached to the nook below the cutting board and pulled out a cookbook. "I thought we'd use this recipe, but remember—" She cued him. "The muffin isn't the muffin."

"The muffin is the recipe," they said together.

"Whatever that means," The Doctor added, putting a hand on her head before she could retaliate. "In addition to problem solving and saving people's lives, of course." His hand slipped over her hair to the nape of her neck. "Right, baking!" He clapped his hands. "What's this thing for?"

"That's for measuring things. Here, give me three cups of flour." He tipped the bag and watched the power flutter out. _Like snow_, he thought, his mind conjuring images of the first battle they fought together. _Snow aware of more than just its surroundings. _He shook the thoughts away and pushed the bowl to Clara.

"This is quaint, isn't it?" She said, pleased. She looked up from her minuscule bowls of spices and powders, her hands clasped in front of her chest.

"I don't do quaint," he replied, but both of them knew he had a secret fondness for adopting mundane roles with Clara. It was like almost like playing house.

"But you're doing such a good job!" She dumped the ingredients in the bowl containing the eggs and poured in the flour. "Now mix."

"It says 'stir in,' not 'dump like the TARDIS is exploding.'"

"Mix!" She repeated, laughing. "These are gonna come out great, I swear."

* * *

><p>Clara woke up from her nap and checked her watch.<p>

"Doctor… The muffins should be about done." She started, fully awake in an instant. "Doctor?" _Rule number five, Clara—don't leave him alone with baked goods! _

"Mm?" He walked into the room, a half-eaten muffin in his hand. Crumbs stuck to his lip, and he brushed them away. "What?"

"They're for _school_, Doctor. School! Think of the children." He said nothing, just polished off the muffin. "How many did you eat, anyway?" He swallowed.

"Hm…well. I think…" he inched closer to her until he was on the bed. "I think we're going to need to make some more." His eyes glinted with—what was it? Eagerness?

"Doctor, you…" Understanding dawned on her. "You _want _to make more, don't you? You like baking!"

"C'mon, Clara, we've got muffins to bake!" He left the room, rubbing his hands together. Clara shook her head. She never knew what to expect with her Doctor, but she knew enough to foresee another tray of muffins. _You never know_, Clara mused. _Maybe he'll even help me clean up_.


	4. Snow Angel

Rating: T

The first snow of the winter falls on Clara and The Doctor, and playing in it gets a little out of hand.

Warnings: Close quarters

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><p>"Still think you're the best snowball fighter in the universe?" She dodged a wad of powdery snow and ducked to her knees, laughing.<p>

"A fort! We need forts!" Clara called to her Doctor.

"Only losers need forts!" She scraped together a snowball and lobbed it at his hair. It scuffed his shoulder, leaving a cloud of fluffy white around his face. _Like a halo_.

"Fine then! The loser builds a fort." Clara smacked him in the nose with a well-aimed cluster of snowflakes.

"I ain't buildin' no fort," he shot back, tipping an imaginary hat to his dearest Clara as he brushed the snow from his face. "Sorry, ma'am, but it looks like you'll be makin' me a home." Clara ducked behind a tree, her heart hammering with the giddiness of the snowball fight—and perhaps a little something else. She gathered as much snow as she could fit between her hands and packed it together. "No cheating!" He yelled.

"Not cheating!" She ran from the hideout, clutching her weapon between her arms. _Ready, aim—_she imagined a cannon, its weaponry shooting through the sky, always hitting its mark. _Fire! _She lobbed the cannon ball and it hit him smack dab on the bow tie.

"Oh! The lady got me!" He spiraled down, falling flat on his face dramatically, flinging up his legs behind him to create two delayed thumps. "Just you wait, Clara," he told her, his eyes sparkling, after he'd dusted himself off. "I'm gonna build you a fort you'll never forget."

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><p>"This is a little tight, isn't it?" Clara examined the "fort" with her hands on her hips. It would barely fit the two of them, she guessed, and there was only one small opening.<p>

"I prefer the term 'cozy,'" he replied. He straightened his bow tie. "After you." Clara tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. _Could be nice, being that close to him_, she thought, a cheeky smile working its way onto her face. She pushed herself into the tiny room and slid to the side. Her breath come out in small pillows against the snow wall, and she laughed, watching the atmosphere vaporize. "See, nice and cozy." The Doctor sighed as he shuffled in his half of the snowbank. He reached to the ceiling, well within his arm span, and drew a light.

"It's the TARDIS light, Clara," he said softly. She pointed a finger into the snow and drew an outline of their blue box.

"And that's what it looks like." She spoke as if exhaling, like the air would shatter if she raised her voice louder than a whisper. He traced a stick figure by the rectangle. "That's me." He added suspenders, and Clara topped it off with a bow tie.

"Draw me," she requested, her voice muffled by the snow. He wrapped his arm awkwardly around her head, fingers burrowing into her hair. With his free hand he added a girl in a dress by his side.

"That's you, Clara."

"Almost," she whispered, her breath catching as his fingers worked their way to the nape of her neck. She added a sloppy chef's hat to the drawing and exhaled softly. His hand slipped from her neck to her collar. Clara turned fully on her side, facing him. She reached out to trail a finger on his cheek, around the curve of his lips, past the roundness of his chin. He pushed himself closer, his hands still working their way downwards. She inhaled, her heart hammering under his palm. She shifted, stretching out both her arms to meet his hearts, the animated rhythm of his hearts matching the pounding in hers. He took her hands carefully between his. Then he kissed her.

It wasn't enough, Clara thought, kissing back, wishing there was more room so she could push her hands through his hair, hold his face, something. Anything with more contact, more heat.

"We should take this inside," he gasped. He tried to stand up, forgetting where he was, and broke through the snow fort. "Ah, sunlight!" He exclaimed with relish. He picked up Clara and took long strides toward the house. Clara slid her hands into his hair, damp with melting snow. She laughed.

"Hm?" He asked, surprised, not before giving her a quick, deep kiss. She looked at him adoringly as he broke away.

"I found my snow angel."


	5. Lost Stars

Whouffle Week Days 6/7: Safe/Comfort

Rating: K+

The Doctor leaves Clara in the TARDIS for a minute, but when he finds her, she's become a child. She's lost and tired, and she just wants to find her way back home.

Warnings: abandonment, childhood

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><p>"Clara?" The Doctor nudged the TARDIS door shut with his foot and peered around the console. "You there?" He bounced the cupcakes lightly in his hands. They were perfect, double chocolate with pink icing, complete with white sprinkles on top. And there was a candle somewhere in his bigger-on-the-inside pockets. He hummed tunelessly to himself as he set up the treats on napkins. Now he just needed to find the birthday girl.<p>

A bang sounded just out of sight, followed by a small "ouch!" He walked around the corner, busy licking icing from his fingertips, and found a girl. She was tiny, seven, maybe, her hair folded in a French braid. She bunched the fabric of her dress in her hands as she saw the Doctor. He squatted, hoping she wouldn't run away.

"Hello," he spoke, almost whispering. "What's your name? I'm the Doctor."

"I'm Clara," she said back, her eyes focused on his own. "I want to go home." She said it softly, but the Doctor knew how to read her voice. So often was his companion energetic and enthusiastic to cover up her doubt.

He took her hand and led her to a free bedroom. He wanted to pick her up, to set her down on the oversized bed and let her stay here forever, but this was Clara before their lives intersected. Clara didn't even _know_ him.

"Clara," he looked at the girl sitting stiffly between the pillows. "Clara, I can take you anywhere you need to go." He paused. "How old are you?" He paused again, trying to remember his companion's birth year. "When were you born?"

"Are you my dad? I can't remember anything." The Doctor swallowed hard. He looked at the little girl and wished he could say yes.

"I'm not," he said, quietly, swallowing his tears. The girl sniffled. "No, no, please—please don't cry." He fiddled with his hands behind his back before putting one on her head. At that, she stopped crying. Her eyes closed as if she were remembering.

"You did what Dad does." She kept her eyes closed. "Can I go home?"

"Please, tell me how old you are." He turned to the doorway, his hands stiffening into fists. He swallowed.

"Can I go home?" She asked again. She had crept off the bed and stood by his hand, hesitant to touch him.

"Please, Clara, tell me how old you are." _I can't help you unless I know, please, please don't take too long. _But he didn't want to know, either. Knowing would mean having no excuse to keep her.

"I'm seven. Is this your house?" She let go of her dress, looking up at him with questions swirling in her eyes. The Doctor closed his. Now he'd have to give her back.

"Is this my house?" At that, he smiled. "Where am I, The Doctor?"

"No, Clara, just 'Doctor,' you call me Doctor, _please_." _Remember! _He shouted in his head. But there was nothing in her to remember.

"Are you OK?" The Doctor looked down at her.

"I'm losing someone," he said, the weight of it pressing down on his hearts. _Like, Rose, Jack, Donna, Amy, Rory, not you. You got me out of my rut, took me out of myself, not you!_

"We can find them. Can't we?" She took his hand. For a moment, he believed it was that simple.

"Oh! Clara!" He jumped back, pulling his hand from hers. "It's your birthday today, isn't it?" Her eyes grew wide.

"How did you know?"

"I'm magic." Her smile teased a response out of him, and he forgot for a moment, beaming at her. "I'll be right back." He scampered out the door. Clara took a look at the door.

"Why isn't there a box? My room has a box on the door." The TARDIS hummed and gave her a small nameplate on the door. Clara bent down to pick up a crayon from the floor, her dress bunching around her legs, and scrawled her name in the space.

"Here, Clara." The Doctor had come back. He sat her down and revealed a cupcake on a pale blue napkin. Her mouth opened in a smile as he nudged a candle into place and lit it with a match hidden between his fingers. "Make a wish." She closed her eyes and blew out the candle nosily.

Then she began to glow. Soft light fluttered out of the candle and enveloped her, twisting around her arms and turning her hair into a mane. Clara grew older, barely moving as the changes brought back the companion he knew. She looked at him, stretching.

"Am I safe?"

"You're safe. _So _safe." He scooped her into his arms and hugged her. "Clara, what did you wish for?" He leaned in and gave her a kiss on her head.

"For you to find he person you'd lost," she muttered before falling asleep in his arms. The TARDIS hummed again, faintly, erasing the child's signature on the door and replacing it with a name in Clara's adult hand. She slipped into a deeper sleep, nuzzling the crook of his elbow.

The Doctor wasn't good at waiting, but never, that night, did he let go.


End file.
